Kishi Kaisei
by Siskin
Summary: A soldier of Kutou tells his story of being given a new life.


Disclaimer: Fushigi Yuugi is not copyrighted to me. Original characters, however, are my own creation.

Warnings: Nongraphic violence. Original character. Takes place near the series end; spoilers.

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Kishi Kaisei

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To look at me, you'd never know it's a miracle that I'm alive.

The Gods know I don't look like anything special, though thankfully my wife doesn't agree. I don't do anything special, at least not in the sense of "heroic", though sometimes getting our three kids to bed on time seems like we ought to get a medal for it.

I wasn't born here in Kounan. I was born in Kutou, and I had a pretty average start for a man in Kutou. I worked the Emperor's fields from the time I could walk until I was 16. Then it was into the army for me.

I saw a lot of ugly things in Kutou's army. But I'd never been the kind of man to speak out. I thought the way most of men in my company did—keep quiet, collect my pay, and eventually I'd get out. In Kutou's service, "eventually" meant after your first 15 years, if you lived that long. After that, you could muster out, or reenlist.

As my time came closer, I'd been thinking more and more about mustering out. Taking a chance and going home, and trying to find a wife while I could. I wasn't sure about it. Get married, and what then? Have children, work the Emperor's farms—like my own family had—and watch our sons go off into the army to escape their lot when they were old enough?

Still, I didn't realize how much the idea of having a family meant to me until the war on Kounan began. It hit a lot of us hard. For some reason, as we marched into Kounan, the men in my company began talking more than ever about where we'd come from, and where we wanted to go if we got out of this. It was as if all of us felt that this might be the last chance we'd get.

In my last battle, we were beating down Kounan's defenses in the castle courtyard itself. But because we were so close, Kounan's troops were desperate, and they fought like hell's demons. Men were dropping all around me.

I'd just jerked my sword free again, and I was trying to get a tighter grip on it. All of a sudden, a soldier of Kounan was right in front of me. He was hardly more than a kid; his eyes were wide open and his face was white under his helmet. But he thrust before I could get my blade up in defense, and his aim was good. I hardly remember any pain--just a jolt. The last thing I remembered was the boy's shocked face.

The next thing I felt was peaceful warmth. It seemed to me like I was back at home, in the field closest to my family's shack, lying in the sun on top of a haystack on some rare evening when we'd finished work before dark. I still didn't feel any pain.

I began to hear voices. There was movement all around me. When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the ground in the courtyard, still in armor. People were getting up, looking confused. As I was trying to stand up, my head spinning, I heard the first shout. There were Kounan soldiers getting to their feet nearby—one of whom I remembered having skewered just before I'd been slain myself. My countrymen, their faces stunned, were drawing their swords, as if to do a better job this time. The Kounan soldiers, looking just as confused, also drew steel.

Then I heard the terrible cry, and saw the monk standing on the steps.

He was weeping, clinging to his shakajou with a white-knuckled grip, and he screamed at us in a rage that took even the coldest men aback. "For your lives, he gave his! In _this _place, in front of _me_, you dare fight? _I won't allow it! Leave! Leave this place now, all of you!!_"

The Kounan warriors seemed to know who he meant. They lowered their weapons. The other Kutou soldiers were wavering; the outrage in the man's voice was fearsome. We looked at each other, but most of us clung to our weapons. The tension was thick, and I was afraid that any moment my countrymen might start to fight again.

I was still dazed. _For our lives…? Who? Who gave his life to bring us back?_

I threw my sword down.

Men around me turned to stare at me. The monk on the steps also noticed me, and I was afraid. I'd realized who he must be by then—one of Suzaku's chosen warriors. Even though our priestess had sealed Suzaku away, blocking the warriors' divine power, I was not foolish enough to think that this man was anyone to toy with.

I'm not sure where I got the courage to start walking forward. Once I'd started, though, I knew I couldn't stop. The baffled, belligerent gazes of my countrymen followed me. They melted out of my path as I approached the steps and the man.

Was this desertion? Desertion in the heat of battle brought an unwavering death penalty in Kutou. But how could it be desertion when I'd already been killed? Was it in the heat, when the battle here had already ended?

_For me_, I decided, _the battle is over_.

I removed my helmet, marked with the Emperor's crest, and cast it on the ground. In the heavy silence, the clatter on the cobblestones seemed very loud. I'd crossed the final line. There were one or two mutters, but the rest of my countrymen seemed too stunned to react.

I reached the steps, hesitated, and sank to my knees. I was afraid to look any higher than his feet. "I surrender," I murmured.

I heard a furious growl behind me and a knife rasping from its sheath. "You fool!" snarled a voice I recognized—the company commander. "They have no power—their god is sealed away! Our resurrection is a gift from Seiryu, so that we may crush Kounan for all time!" I heard him approach.

"Be still," I heard the man murmur to me. I couldn't have moved if I'd wanted to; I closed my eyes, expecting to feel that knife plunge into my back.

Just as I heard metal sing in the air, I heard the crunch of dust and pebbles under the man's feet. He moved with a shout. I heard the whistle of a staff, a jangle of rings, a dull crack, and a heavy crash. Trembling, I opened my eyes and looked over my shoulder. The commander lay inert on the stones; blood streamed from a great open welt on his head, but he was still breathing.

There were more mutters from my countrymen, and the monk spoke, his voice steadier now. "I will not take a life that he paid for," he said, "but anyone else who fights in this courtyard will find himself removed from it."

One by one, other weapons and helmets clashed down. Soon I was in a line of at least a dozen men, kneeling humbly. The monk spoke to each of us, and sent each man off to assist the healers, or to other tasks. Finally he stopped before me and laid his hand on my shoulder, and I dared to look up at him.

He had a grave but gentle face, and although one eye was permanently closed by a vicious scar, and his face was tracked with blood and dirt and tears, he was smiling at me.

"Thank you," he said softly.

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**The End**

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